


The New Arthur

by GaimanisGod



Category: Merlin (TV), The Last Kingdom (TV), The Warrior Chronicles | The Saxon Stories - Bernard Cornwell
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-01-25 13:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18575218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GaimanisGod/pseuds/GaimanisGod
Summary: After the death of Arthur, Merlin walks the length and breadth of Britain for nearly two centuries. Eventually, he hears about a new king. One who stands against the Danes, who are only the latest in a long line of invaders.  So, reluctant daughter in tow, he sets off to find the Alfred he's heard so much about. To see if they can make their shared dream of Albion come true.





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

_Banks of the River Conwy – Spring 881_

The wait for battle to begin was almost worse that the battle itself, Merlin thought to himself. A light rain was falling, darkening the fabric of the tents that the servants were rushing to put up. 

Merlin had secured for himself the use of one of the three cottages that made up the hamlet of Cymryd. His reason being that he could carry out his work better under thatch than under canvas. And he’d been able to sweep the small number of Cymryd’s women and children inside, for protection from the hard eyes and harder hands of the soldiers. 

The armies of King Anarawd of Gwynedd and his brothers had been tracking the progress of the invading Mercians across North Wales for days. Both had been moving to the mouth of the Conwy, both hoping to claim the higher ground to the west of the river. The Gwyneddian arrived first and the army was now arranging itself on Bryn Eithin, while the camp followers made their way to Cymryd. 

Merlin stood in the door of the cottage, staff gripped in his hand, watching as the three Welsh armies streamed past. 

“Father,” his daughter, Rhianwen, came out of the cottage to stand beside him. She lowered her voice to barely above a whisper. “Where will you go?”

Merlin took in his surroundings. “The army is occupying the highest ground. Perhaps there.” He gestured to a ridge off to the west. “It should afford a decent view of the battle, if not a great one.”

“You can’t just,” she leaned in closer, lowering her voice. “Call up a storm from here?”

“And how will I know who I am striking at?” Merlin gripped the staff a little tighter. A faint blue glow emanated from the stone at its tip. “We are too far away, here.”

“I think we are close enough,” Rhianwen nodded back into the cottage. Two large-eyed children were crouching in the corner, sharing a crust of bread. 

“You know what to do if we fail?”

Rhianwen tapped the pouch hanging from her belt. “I have the powder, and I know the words.”

“Good.” Merlin pressed Rhianwen’s hands between his own, and then turned to walk to his chosen spot. The years rolled away from him as he walked and he took on the appearance of the young man he’d once been. 

Rhianwen watched him go and, once he was out of view, she turned instead to watch the army continue to set up on the hillside. Their number seemed impossibly large, and she felt a flicker of hope that this battle would be won. So engrossed was she in her thoughts, that she did not notice the young man creeping up on her. He caught her around the waist and pulled her to the lee side of the cottage, out of view. Her angry cry turned to laughter when she saw who it was. 

“Tudwal!” she slapped him on the arm. “Should you not be with the king.”

“I wanted to see you before it started.” He backed Rhianwen against the wall and kissed her. “For luck. When you see me again, I may be a true prince.”

Tudwal had placed a lot of hope on the outcome of this battle. He was the youngest son of the old king, Rhodri the Great, who’d ruled most of Wales. It was tales of Rhodri, who some had named King of the Britons, that had pulled Merlin from his long seclusion on the Isle of the Blessed. He’d hoped that Rhodri would be a second Arthur. The one to unite the scattered Britons and push back against the all-conquering Saxons. But that hope had failed. Rhodri had fallen in battle against the Mercians two years before. But the Mercians had failed to conquer any of Wales, as incursions by the Danes had forced them to defend their own lands. Now they were back to try again, and Rhodri’s sons were eager for revenge. 

When Rhodri died, his kingdom had been divided amongst his three elder sons. Tudwal was young, untested, and had been left nothing. Now he hoped to prove himself in battle, enough that one of his brothers would give him land. 

“You have always been a prince,” Rhianwen laced her fingers at the back of his neck and pulled him down to kiss her again.

“But a prince with land. No more hiding around corners.”

“I rather like our stolen kisses.”

“When I come back a victor we can tell everyone.”

“Everyone at your brother’s court already knows,” she reminded him.

“But we can marry.” He kissed her again. Rhianwen felt his hands at her waist, his right hand creeping up a little to graze her breast. “Give me something? Some token, like the heroes of old were given by their ladies.”

“I have nothing, except myself, my heart. And you already have those.”

His hand was cupping her breast now. Rhianwen twisted away, just a little, afraid someone may turn the corner and see them. 

“I do, I know I do.” Tudwal smiled. “But still. One tiny thing.”

“One moment.” Rhianwen took the knife from her belt and cut a thin strip of cloth from her underskirt. She tied the strip around Tudwal’s forearm. “And now you had better win, for I have ruined my only dress for you.”

“I will buy you twenty dresses. Thirty!” He leaned to kiss her once more. 

Rhian put both hands on his breast plate and pushed him away. “That you had best ride to battle, so we can begin our new life all the sooner.”

 

Cymryd stood upwind of the battle, so Rhianwen and the other camp followers could hear nothing. Dark clouds and flashes of lighting cracked overhead. Rhianwen shivered in the rising wind, but refused to move from the doorway. Her father was out there, doing his work. She prayed to every god she’d ever heard of that he would be successful, and that her lover would come back to her. 

After some hours had passed, the wounded started to trickle back to the camp. Rhianwen at last had something to do. 

“We have them on the run,” a man with a gushing headwound told her. 

“Anarawd fights like a man possessed,” another said, as she bandaged his leg. 

“God is with us, Lady,” another told her, just before his eyes closed for the last time. 

“My father is with you,” she wanted to tell him. 

The trickle became a flood and Rhianwen started to lose track of who was who, and how many hours had gone by. There were so many wounded. The sun had set and the rain kept lashing down, leaking down through the inexpertly laid thatch. 

“Myrddin! Where is Myrddin.” King Anarawd himself bust into the cottage, just ahead of two men bearing a stretcher. 

“He is coming, Lord. May I help?” Rhianwen pushed her hair back, leaving finger-strokes of blood across her sweat slicked forehead.

“Better you don’t look,” Anarawd got between her and the stretcher, trying to prevent her from seeing who was on it. 

“it’s my job, Lord,” she protested. But she had begun to guess at why he was hiding the injured man. 

Anarawds’s face was pale, his eyes impossibly blue against his gore splattered face. 

“Let me see!” Rhianwen started towards the stretcher, put Anarawd pushed her back with his outstretched arm. 

“Don’t make me put you on your arse, girl. The other men need you.” The king warned. “Myrddin!”

“I am here.” Merlin appeared in the doorway, hair and beard wet and dripping. 

The table was cleared and the stretcher lifted onto it. The injured man was Tudwal. He was quiet, pale. The stump of a spear lodged in his thigh. Rhianwen wished he were screaming. 

“Rhian, go,” her father urged her. “Go to the tents. There are men there who need you.”

“Father, I must stay.”

“Who is the better healer, eh?” Her father’s eyes were soft, but he pushed her away firmly.

Anarawd nodded to the two soldiers who’d carried the stretcher. They took hold of Rhianwen’s arms and steered her outside. 

“Do not hurt her,” the king commanded. “But do not let her return.”


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Merlin turned his head. Rhianwen had once again let her horse slow to barely more than a crawl. A more cynical man might have thought that she was avoiding speaking to him.

“Dewi,” he indicated the solder ahead. “Thinks we will be in Winchester before noon.”

“Wonderful.” 

“That is, if we keep a livelier pace that you are currently doing.”

“Better to journey than arrive, isn’t that what you say, father?”

“Not when a king is awaiting you.”

“I’m sure that this Alfred could not care less.”

“You are not eager to see your new home? Winchester is said to be very fine. Roman walls. A Roman palace. What would you say if we were given rooms there, eh?”  
Rhianwen shrugged. 

“If I’d have known you were to give up speaking, I would have chosen another companion.”

“I wish you had. I did not wish to leave Aberffraw.” Rhianwen kept her eyes on the countryside around them. The land was rather beautiful. Fertile, rich. So very different to the mountains of Gwynedd.

Merlin sighed and moved his horse nearer to his daughters. “I know your heart is broken. But it will mend, in time. And sooner if you are in a place that is less,” he considered his choice of words. “Filled with memories.”

“I do not want to,” Rhianwen’s voice cracked and she wiped a tear away with her sleeve. “I do not want to forget.”

“I do not mean forget.” Merlin lowered his voice. “I have been alive for near three hundred years, and have lost much in that time. I do not forget those I’ve lost, but the pain is lessened as time goes on. This is our chance to start afresh.”

“With Alfred as your new Arthur?” 

“Perhaps,” Merlin ran splayed fingers through his beard, pulling at a knot. “I’ve heard such great things. And we share the same dream.”

“Albion,” Rhianwen rolled her eyes. 

“Albion, or England. Whatever it is called. A united island.”

They fell into silence once again.

Eventually, Winchester drew into view. Merlin had heard correctly. Roman walls. High, formidable. And so much bigger than Aberffraw, or any town Merlin had seen since the fall of Camelot. The roads were busy. So much busier than Merlin had anticipated. 

“The city is bursting, Lord,” Father Beocca explained as he led them into the depths of the palace to their rooms. “The Lady Æthelflæd is to marry the young Lord of Mercia, Æthelred, in four days. Had you not arrived in time, we may have been forced to give your room to another.” The priest chuckled. 

“Which would have been misfortune indeed, for we have been traveling for nearly a week.”

“I jest, of course,” Beocca went on. “The king selected these rooms himself.”

Beocca opened a door at the very end of a corridor. The room beyond was decently sized, with two windows at the far end, overlooking the palace courtyard. A large table occupied the centre of the room, and a bedframe heaped with furs was in one corner. A smaller chamber led off from the main room. The bedframe took up most of the floor. But it did have a small window, high up on the wall. 

“Little more than a cupboard, really” the priest lifted his shoulders apologetically. 

“I’m sure it will suit- “Merlin started. 

“It will be fine.” Rhianwen said at the same time. 

“I defer to my daughter, in all things,” Merlin gave a mock bow to her. 

Rhianwen smiled weakly, but dropped her knapsack onto the bed, definitively claiming it. 

“The king is attending to other business at present, but he would like to speak to you after mass tomorrow, when you are both rested. The wedding occupies much of his time, at present.”

“A king with time to spare is a poor king indeed.” Merlin nodded sagely. “My daughter and I would like to dine though. Is there a place you could recommend?”

“May I suggest the Plough? The oysters are particularly fine, although the ale at the Two Cranes is rather better.”

“And would you care to join us, Father?”

“Alas, I must also be about the king’s business. Or I would have enjoyed a cup of ale with you both.”

“Are you befriending priests now?” Rhianwen raised an eyebrow after the priest left. 

“Alfred’s priest. That would be a friend worth making.” 

Merlin set his strong box on the table. After checking that the door was securely shut, he pressed his hand against the sides of the box. His eyes flashed yellow, before returning to their usual blue, and the lid sprang open. He began to lift out jars and bottles and boxes, far more than could possibly have been contained within it. He started to bring out books, but then thought better of it and let them be. Rhianwen found spaces for them on the shelves and cupboards of their new home. 

“You have not observed anything different about me?” He asked at length. 

“Such as,” Rhianwen did not pause in her work. 

“I have removing years from myself every day we travelled.”

Rhianwen turned and squinted at this face. “Oh, yes. Perhaps a few less wrinkles.”

“Well, at least the effect is subtle,” Merlin grumbled. “I think our work here is done. We should go to the alehouse Beocca recommended.”

“You go. I have work to do here.”

“We are done, child,” Merlin said firmly. 

“I am not in the mood for an alehouse.”

Merlin’s brow wrinkled. He crossed the room and took his daughters hands in his. “Humour me. An old man alone is likely to be ignored, but a pretty girl at my side will bring men flocking to our table. And who knows what useful tales we will be told.”

“You are likely to be told some tall tales, and nothing more.” Rhianwen snapped. “Can I not have one day without being part of your scheming?”

“You have had more than enough time. This childish sulking is unbecoming.”

“I am not sulking. I am grieving.” Rhianwen’s voice rose. 

“You are young- “

“So you keep saying. I feel no better hearing it. It just makes me think how long I left to live without him. And now we are here and we are to celebrate the wedding of the man who ruined – “

Rhianwen turned away, hiding her face in her hands. Merlin started forward and rested a hand on her back. 

“Who ruined all my hopes for my life with a spear throw.”

Merlin softened and went to embrace her. But his daughter slid away, towards her chamber. “I would rather you left me.”

 

After Merlin had left, Rhianwen paced the length of her small room, her fingers plucking at the edges of her gown. Her agitation could not be contained within the four walls of her chamber. She grabbed her cloak and left, taking several wrong turns before she reached the street. 

The main road through Winchester was crowded, the city full of revellers. She shouldered her way along, hoping to break out onto a quieter street, one where she could think. She heard her name called and nodded her head at the four soldiers who had escorted her and her father from Anglesey. They’d been well paid for the task and were no doubt quickly losing their earnings in Winchesters taverns and brothels. 

A clapping and cheering went up further along the road. The crowd parted, gathering to the sides to let the procession through. Mercians, led by the Lord Æthelred himself. Rhianwen glared as he passed her. The lord’s mild gaze glided over her. She almost spat. 

Never before had she wished so much for even a fraction of her father’s power. She’d have drawn a lightning bolt down to strike him and taken all the consequences. The thin gold bracelets she wore at each wrist burned hot on her skin. She turned away from the road, pushing her way back into the crowd. 

 

Finan, standing with Uhtred and the others outside the Two Cranes, saw the young woman on the other side of the street, staring at Æthelred with such hate that he almost expected the young lord to burst into flames right there. A surge in the crowd sent him forwards, almost spilling his ale. When he’d righted himself, and looked for the woman again, she was gone. 

 

Rhianwen hurried through the back streets of Winchester. The bracelets still burned. She reached the stables and went into her horse’s stall, dunking her forearms into his water bucket up to her elbows, hoping to find relief. The water steamed, but the pain dulled. 

“Sorry, boy,” she scratched Drustan between his ears. “I will fetch you fresh water.”

She sat with her horse until it became dark, and then made her way back to the palace. She pushed the door to her chamber open, and then stopped. A tall, dark-haired man was standing by the table, examining the strong box. 

“Ah, you must be the physician’s daughter,” the man straightened up and turned towards her. 

“I am, Lord.”

“Very good. I am Alfred.”

“Lord,” her head and knees bobbed down in a curtsey. 

“This strong box is rather interesting,” The king ran his fingers over the intricately designed carvings, tracing with particular interest the dragon sigil. “It looks old.”

“It is, Lord. My father had it made when he was a young man.”

“And where is your father? I had hoped to speak with him.”

“He went to an alehouse to dine, Lord.” Rhianwen crossed to one of the cupboards and withdrew a small cask. “I believe he should return soon. May I offer you a cup of wine? King Anarawd made a gift of this to us.”

“That would be a delight,” the king took a seat in one of the chairs near the fire. “And would you care to sit with me?”

“Lord.” Rhianwen poured two cups of wine and then took a seat opposite the king. 

Alfred examined her over the rim of his cup. “You did not join your father?”

“At the alehouse? No. I went to see the arrival of the Mercian Lord.”

“Æthelred, yes.” Alfred nodded. “You were not hungry?”

“No, Lord.” But her stomach betrayed her by rumbling loudly. Rhianwen giggled, a little higher pitched and a little longer than she usually would have. 

“You should go to the kitchens and tell them I sent you. They will feed you.”

“Thank you, lord.”

The king resumed his cool appraisal. Rhianwen tried not to shrink under it, raising her chin a little and holding the cup steady. She wanted desperately to take a sip of wine, but feared embarrassing herself by dribbling. 

“I had heard that you were a great beauty.”

“Lord?”

“When people speak of your father, and they do a lot, they mention his skill. And his lovely daughter.”

“I can hardly comment on the latter, but my father is indeed very skilled.”

The king smiled. “Well, at least I know one rumour is true. I dearly hope that the other is too.”

Alfred had something of a reputation as a lecher. Or he had as a young man, anyway. At least one bastard son, or so she’d heard. But now people spoke of his piety and his faithfulness to his wife. And his gaze was shrewd, yet detached. Curious, rather than lecherous. 

The door opened and her father entered the room. He blinked slowly, eyes adjusting to the gloom. She and the king both got to their feet. 

“Myrddin Wylt?” Alfred asked. 

“Lord.”

“Father,” Rhianwen went to help her father out of his cloak. “This is King Alfred.”

“Lord,” her father repeated, bowing. 

“You may leave us,” the king said to Rhianwen. “And remember what I said about the kitchens.”

 

“Your daughter is charming.” The king remarked, when Rhianwen’s steps had faded. 

“Daughters. A man’s greatest joy and deepest sorrow.”

“Agreed.” Alfred gave a rueful smile. “My own is shortly to be married. Your daughter is not yet wed?”

“No, Lord. She was,” he paused. “She was rather fond of old King Rhodri’s youngest son, Tudwal. They spoke of marriage, but it was not to be.”

Alfred thought of the news he’d heard from the men he had placed at the Gwyneddian king’s court. “The boy was injured, was he not? At the Battle of the Conwy.”

“He was. He will certainly never ride to battle again, or wield a sword. And under Cyfraith Hywel he is not allowed to rule.”

“And so, he needed a richer bride than your daughter.” Alfred guessed the rest. 

“Such is the way of things.”

“Back to the reason for my visit,” Alfred began. “I thought your chambers a more discreet place to discuss my condition than the hall, where curious ears do tend to linger.”

The king stood, hands behind his back, and crossed to the window. He looked out over the courtyard rather than at Merlin as he explained how it had started. How the pains had first took hold of him after a great feast held to celebrate his own marriage. 

“Ficus, loose stools, bleeding. Pain. Almost unbearable pain. The only person to ever help was a healer, in the Athelney marshes. Ironic, is it not that I felt most well when living in a hovel, rather than a palace? No one has come close to a cure since.”

Merlin ran through the usual list of questions. The king admitted that avoiding rich food helped, but that he felt weak when he did not include meat in his diet. 

“I have seen similar before and have some ideas that may help. I will begin right away.”

“Well,” Alfred clasped the arms of the chair and both hands, levering himself up. “I await your ideas. These are troubled times, and Wessex needs her king to be a healthy one.”

Merlin expected the king to leave, but he seemed in no hurry. 

"Let me fetch you more wine, sire," Merlin offered. 

The king reclined a little in his seat as he accepted the refreshed cup. "Thank you. This wine is fine indeed. I would not have expected Anarawd to keep such a fine cellar."

"It's true that Aberffraw is a little," Merlin chuckled, "rougher than Wessex. But Anarawd does have a taste for fine things."

Alfred stretched his feet towards the fire. Merlin almost thought he was about to kick his shoes off and warm his toes thoroughly. Alfred sighed and closed his eyes, only for a moment. 

"And you," the king opened his eyes. "Were you content to leave your king?"

"I served Anarawd for some years. His father for rather longer. It was time for a change. Besides," Merlin gestured to the strong walls of the chamber. "Who would give up the chance to live out their years in such surroundings."

"Only a few years ago these walls were occupied by Danes. I almost thought that Winchester would never be recovered."

"So I've heard. But recover them you did! And now Wessex is a stronghold. A bastion, against the invading horde."

"Now that I will toast to."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The church was hot and stuffy, crowded with the great and good of Wessex society. Merlin recognised some faces in the crowd. There was Lord Odda, the king’s oldest counsellor. Æthelwold, Alfred’s nephew, always agitating for more power and position. He was speaking to a man Merlin had not yet met, but had heard much of. Uhtred, pagan of Coccham. Forever in and out of the king’s favour. Men spoke of him as the one truly responsible for the victory at Ethandun. He nodded to Thyra, the new wife of father Beocca, who had been so kind to Rhianwen and he over the last few days. 

A sharp rapping at the door, and then the king’s daughter entered. She paced serenely down the aisle to meet her new husband at the altar, face alight with happiness.   
There was a sudden commotion. The king’s nephew was dragged backwards, away from Uhtred’s side to stand in the row behind, beside a tall dark-haired man. The sly grin slipped from Æthelwold’s face. 

Merlin turned his attention back to the front of the room. His dislike of the Mercians would likely never fade, but he still hoped that this alliance between Wessex and Mercia would be one step along the very long road to a united Albion. Or England, to use Alfred’s name for it. 

 

“Oh dear,” Æthelwold circled back once Uhtred and Steapa had disappeared through the palace doorway. “I do hope Uhtred is not in any trouble.”

“You’ve as much to fear from the king finding out about our journey into Daneland as he does,” Finan warned. “So, keep quiet.”

“I wonder what Alfred wants.”

“Æthelwold,” Finan warned. Why wouldn’t the man leave him alone. All he wanted was to enjoy the free-flowing ale with Uhtred and the rest of his men. Then his attention was caught by the woman he’d seen glaring at Æthelred the other day. He’d spotted her again at the ceremony, accompanying an older man. Her husband perhaps, for it was ever the way that young beauties like her were granted to rich, old men. 

“If you wish to make yourself useful, you could tell me who that is.” He pointed to the woman, who was speaking to a knot of women on the other side of the square. 

“Oh,” Æthelwold’s gaze followed his own. “Taken a fancy to the whore, have you?”

“The what?”

“King Anarawd, Welsh savage that he is, seeks to make a friend of Alfred by sending him his famed physician, Myrddin Wylt, accompanied by his daughter.” Æthelwold leaned in, eyes glinting with mirth. “Rumour is, she’s lain with half the Welsh court. Anarawd, his brothers. Maybe even old King Rhodri himself.”

“And where’d you hear that from?”

“The Mercians. The Welsh guard who accompanied them here.” Æthelwold shrugged. “So, gift or insult. Or temptation? Why else send such a pretty thing into the heart of Alfred’s court.”

“You do talk some nonsense.”

“You should try your luck,” Æthelwold gestured with his cup. “Or perhaps she only lies with princes. Maybe I should speak to her.”

“She’ll send you on your way, if she’s any sense.” Finan sighed. “And the lady’s name?”

“The whore’s name? Rhiannon, Rhianwen, something Welsh.”

 

Merlin was not seated at the high table. But by casting a simple spell, he was able to amplify the words spoken at that table. So, Lunden had been taken by northmen. The news brought by Uhtred, the king suspicious about the means by which he’d made the discovery. Merlin thought he’d overheard the king’s nephew say something about a dead man talking, which had piqued his interest somewhat. If the Danes had a necromancer on their side…


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Merlin and Rhianwen stood with the rest of the court to watch the negotiating party leave for Lunden. Æthelflaed’s pale face shone out in the gloomy morning. She bade her husband farewell swiftly, face showing no sadness at their parting. 

“They’ve been married for two days, and he’s leaving her already,” Rhianwen remarked, as she and her father walked back to their chambers. 

“They’re royalty, child. Duty comes first.”

“Still, it can hardly make for a happy beginning to a marriage. Thought I doubt that any bride of Æthelred would be happy for long.”

“Hush. You must try to let go of your hatred. At least a little. It blinds you to possibilities.”

“Are you going to sell me off to a Mercian, like the king has done?” Rhianwen started to pack her satchel with the potions needed for the house calls she was to make that morning. “Maybe the brothers will accept Æthelred’s head in exchange for Lunden? That would be a fine outcome.”

Merlin sighed. “This alliance is important.”

“I know, I know. For the future of Albion.” Rhianwen slung the bag over her shoulder. “And you must keep the king alive for as long as possible. How is your own work going?”

“I have some plans. Some ideas.” Merlin went to the table and started pouring powders from various jars into a bowel. He grabbed the pestle and started to grind them together. “I think this may be the one.”

“Is he to drink that?” Rhianwen eyed the mixture suspiciously. 

“He’s to eat it.” Merlin dabbed his finger into the mixture then onto his tongue. “Perhaps I could sweeten it a little.”

“The deadlier the poison, the sweeter it tastes, that’s what you always tell me.” Rhianwen paused at the door. “Perhaps leave it sour, and he’ll be more inclined to believe it works.”

“You’ve strange logic, child.”

“I learned all I know from you.”


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Rhianwen thought herself lucky that she’d been invited to travel by boat with Lady Æthelflæd, even if it did mean that she had to share a boat with Æthelred. The Lord of Mercia, fortunately, pretended that she was not there, refusing to even look in her direction. But almost all the court avoided her now, the rumours about her having spread like weeds. She was almost certain that the Mercians were behind the tales, seeking to discredit her father, and insult King Anarawd, through her. She’d spent much of the last weeks keeping to their chambers, avoiding all as much as possible. 

Still, Thyra and Beocca remained kind. And Lady Æthelflæd herself spoke to her gently, even if her mother all but turned her back when she was in the room. But a hard stare from Æthelred had made her turn away, and she’d been all but silent for the journey. 

The boat glided to a stop beside a small jetty. Rhianwen took in her surroundings as they walked through the gate of the burgh and towards the hall. A small church, a hut really, perched on stilts next to the river. The wooden walls of the burgh were high and solid. The hall itself surprisingly warm and welcoming. She could hear Uhtred’s wife, Gisela, tease Aldhelm about how different his expectations had been. 

Alwena, Lady Æthelflæd’s maid, appeared at her side, and invited her to join the lady in her room. Rhianwen ascended the stairs, finding Æthelflæd in a small chamber.   
“While we are alone,” Æthelflæd said, once she had dismissed Alwena. “I wanted to speak to you, privately.”

The Lady paused, twisting her hands together. 

“Are there preparations I could take to. To…”

“To hinder pregnancy, Lady?”

“No! No,” Æthelflæd was sharp. “To aid it. To make it more likely. I would like to give my husband a child as soon as possible.” She did not add that she hoped her husband would treat her more kindly, once she was with child.

“There are herbs, Lady. I can prepare something. I may not have all I need with me…”

“When we return to Winchester, then.” Æthelflæd nodded. “And I can trust to your discretion. I would not want people to…”

“I understand, Lady. I will not say a word, not even to my father.”

 

Rhianwen remained with Æthelflæd for the rest of the afternoon. The Lady spent most of her time in silent prayer, while Rhianwen packed and repacked her saddlebag, checking again and again that she had all she needed. 

Not long after nightfall, the chamber door banged open and Æthelred stamped his way in. 

“Out, whore,” he snapped at Rhianwen. It looked for a moment that Æthelflæd would protest, but instead she dismissed Rhianwen with a nod. 

Rhianwen went down to the hall, but did not linger. The men were growing rowdy, well into their cups by now, and she did not have the patience to endure any of their nonsense. Instead she wandered out of the open gates of the burgh and down to the riverside. Maybe she could find some of the herds required for Æthelflæd’s potion here. 

She hadn’t been at the riverside long when she saw a small procession. Father Beocca, Æthelflæd and a blonde woman wearing the habit of a nun made their way to the church. Thyra followed at a distance. They did not see Rhianwen standing in the shade of the trees. 

After a few moments, Rhianwen went to the door of the church, opening it just enough to hear what was being said. 

 

Rhianwen stepped away from the door, shocked by wait she’d heard. She’d guessed that the marriage was not a happy one. But for him to accuse her of adultery and put her to such a trial was unthinkable. She was glad that Beocca had not gone through with the test. 

She walked back towards the burgh slowly, so absorbed in her thoughts that she did not notice the man step out of the shadows. 

“Have you been praying, Lady?” It was Uhtred’s Irish warrior. 

Rhianwen let out a surprised gasp. “Oh, no. I wanted to pick herbs by the water’s edge. Night is often the best time.”

“I thought your father was the physician?”

“He is. But he’s a little old to be riding to battle, so here I am instead.”

“And you have a sword? Are you planning on fighting, Lady?”

“It’s my father’s old sword. And I plan to be far away from the fighting. Dealing with the wounded.”

“Well, let’s all pray there’s little work for you to do.”

“You are Lord Uhtred’s man?”

“Finan. Commander of his men. And you are Rhianwen.”

“I am.”

“Allow me to escort you. Coccham is a safe a place as you’ll find anywhere, but I could never allow a lady to walk alone at night. You never know where a Dane or two may be lurking.”

“Then I would be glad of your company. Though a woman walking alone with a man may damage her reputation.”

“You’re Welsh. They already consider you a step away from a savage.”

Rhianwen laughed. “True. But they say much the same about the Irish. I thought you all had bones through your noses and wore only blue paint.”

“I think you’ll find that’s the Scots, Lady.”

“Ah,” Rhianwen crouched down to examine some plants growing by the water’s edge. She drew her knife and cut some leaves. 

“What is that?”

“Lady’s mantle. And goat’s head,” she pointed a little way further along the river bank. “I need some of that too, although this is horribly crushed.”

“The villagers often drag their boats here, when the river is high.”

“Shame, they are better when not damaged.”

Finan edged his way along the river bank. “I see some more over there – are they the same?”

“Yes, I think so.” Rhianwen followed his pointed finger and squinted in the dim light. “That is an awkward spot, though.”

“You wait there. I’ll need to go into the water to cut them, and I don’t wish you to get your feet wet.”

Finan waded into the shallows and cut a chunk of the leaves. “I hope this is important.”

“Very. Thank you. I would also like to find dandelions.”

“Dandelions,” Finan’s nose wrinkled in amusement. “What use are they?”

“They have many uses,” Rhian replied offhandedly. Eyes fixed to the ground, she continued to search the river bank for plants. “How long have you been in Uhtred’s service?”

Finan let out a low whistle. “A little over three years. We were slaves on a ship together, and when we were set free I joined him.”

“You didn’t wish to return home?”

“No home to go back to. Not anymore.”

“I’m sorry, that was not my business.”

“It’s a long story, Lady, and not a pleasant one.” Finan rubbed his hand over his cropped hair. “And you, Lady. What brought you to Wessex?”

“My father. But I think you know that.”

“And what brought your father?”

“Diplomacy,” Rhianwen raised her eyebrows mockingly. “Great men wish to make alliances and we poor pawns must go along with them.”

“Last we heard, the Welsh king was making alliances with Guthred of Eoferwic.”

“He did, but it didn’t last. Now he looks south for allies.”

“I’ve met Guthred. A likeable man, but a fool.”

“Well, I only know what I hear. The Lady Gisela is his sister, is she not?”

“Yes. So perhaps I should not criticise her brother so loudly.” He laughed. “And you did not mind being shipped off elsewhere?”

“I’d have rather stayed.”

“I did hear that you were rather popular.”

“Oh,” Rhianwen stepped back a little, pointing her knife towards him. “Did you plan that once we were alone you could –"

“I did not, Lady,” Finan held both hands up. “I have no need of a whore. Not that I’m saying you-"  
"Well, good. For I am not one,” Rhianwen kept her knife pointed towards him. “Despite what people may say. And if I had whored myself to as many men as they say then I would not be digging in the dirt for herbs. I could pay someone to do it for me.”

“Well that you could,” Finan agreed. “Now would you put the knife down? We were having a pleasant talk, were we not?”

“So, you don’t plan to –"

“I’m neither rapist, nor whorer. On my life. On the blessed virgin’s life.”

“Fine,” Rhianwen rolled her eyes, refusing to laugh at his ironic choice of words. But she tucked her knife back into her belt. 

“Would you join me for a cup of ale?” Finan asked as they neared the hall.

“It is late, and I should re-join the Lady.” Rhianwen paused at the doorway. It was quiet in the hall now, only a few stragglers finishing their drinks. “But thank you for your company.”


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

They’d set off early, and kept up a pace, but it was still past nightfall when they reached the chosen place to camp, a little over a mile from the outskirts of Lunden. Rhianwen had her own tent, large enough to treat several men at once. The camp servants had set up a long bench for her, wide enough to be used as a table, along one side. 

The camp was quiet, men resting before the expected battle. Rhianwen was up late, arranging her supplied in readiness, for the assault was to start before dawn. She heard soft voices outside, but was not concerned. Her back was to the entrance when the flap was thrust open. She turned to see two men, Mercians, she guessed from the fact they wore blue cloaks over dull yellow tunics. 

“May I help you? I was about to go to bed?”

“Bed, is it?” One of the men leered and nudged his partner. “She’s offering us her bed already. She is a whore.”

Rhianwen grabbed her knife from the bench, but the man moved so quickly. He knocked it out of her hand and then punched her in the face with such force that she fell against the bench. Her head was ringing, and she was dimly aware of the man dragging her to her feet, pressing her face into the wooden surface. The other man held her head and hands down, and the two exchanged heated words over whose turn it was first. 

She heard a jingling as the first man pulled down his breeches. A breath of cold air fluttered over her bare skin as her skirts were hoisted up. She realised what was about to happen. 

Before she knew what happened, a burst of raw magical energy burst out of her, knocking both men to the floor. Intense pain sliced through her wrists and for a moment she was not aware of anything. Then she scrambled to her feet, picking up her knife as she did so. Both men had got up and were staring at her. One opened his mouth to cry out, but Rhianwen got to him before he could, slashing his throat before the first syllable left him. The other turned to run, but his breeches were still around his ankles, so he fell. Rhianwen slashed out at him, cutting his throat before the first man had even hit the floor. 

 

Finan, having had enough of Uhtred’s teasing of how much he had looked at the Welsh woman on the ride to Lunden, walked through the quiet camp. A candle still burned in the tent he knew to be Rhianwen’s and, almost without thinking, he started towards it. As he drew nearer, he thought he heard crying. 

“Lady,” he called, opening the tent flaps. “I thought I heard –"

He took in the scene in front of him. Two dead men. Rhianwen standing, as far away from them as she could get, holding her face in her bloody hands. He glanced out of the tent door, but the rest of the camp was still. 

“Are you hurt?” He asked, going to Rhianwen’s side. 

“No, no –"  
“Didn’t give them a chance, right?” He tried to joke. 

Finan turned one of the men over with his feet. The man’s breeches were down and his flaccid penis flopped sadly to the side. Rhianwen covered her mouth with her hands, smoothing a mad desire to laugh. 

“What do I do?”

“They were trying to rape you.”

“Yes, but,” Rhianwen took deep breaths, trying to calm herself. She was the victim, she repeated to herself. But she knew others would not see it that way. 

“Everyone already thinks I am a whore. They will think I encouraged this. That I welcomed it.”

Finan looked to the pile of furs heaped in the corner. “We hide them. No, listen,” he stifled Rhianwen’s protests. “Tomorrow this tent will be filled with injured men. You can pretend they were brought here after the battle and died here.”

Rhianwen conceded that it was not a bad plan. Or at least, that she could not suggest a better one. They rolled the men up in her bedding. Finan nodded to her bloodied hands and dress. 

“You should wash and change, Lady. Then I will walk with you to Lady Æthelflæd’s tent. Tell her you did not feel safe sleeping alone.”

“That will not be a lie,” the edge of Rhianwen’s lip lifted a little. “Not now, anyway.”

Finan stepped closer and put his hand to the side of her face. Rhianwen flinched away and Finan put his hand down. 

“You’ll have a lovely shiner in the morning,” Finan commented. “I’ll wait outside.”


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Rhianwen was back in her tent. Trying hard to avoid looking at the pile of furs in the corner. They were already starting to smell and a few stray flies circled. She heard Thyra’s shout and picked up her father’s sword. 

Outside was chaos. Men and women falling under horses’ hooves. Fires breaking out. Northmen everywhere, slashing out with their swords. 

Still, she saw this as her chance to cover up what happened the night before. Keeping her eyes alert for any Danes who drew too near, she placed a hand on her tent and whispered. The tent burst into flames behind her. 

Then she ran, finding Thyra and Æthelflæd, and running with them into the woods. Rhianwen wasn’t sure how, but she found herself alone with Thyra. Æthelflæd was nowhere to be seen. Branches cracked and shouts came from all around them. 

She grabbed Thyra’s wrist and used her other hand to open the pouch at her waist. The said the words her father had made her repeat until she knew them off by heart. The woods rolled away from them and she and Thyra found themselves in a grey world. Thyra flinched and tried to pull away, but Rhianwen held fast. 

“Stay with me and you will be safe. There is nothing to fear here.”

“Where are we?” Thyra breathed. 

“I don’t know exactly. A safe place.” Rhianwen relaxed her hold a little, sure Thyra was not going to run. 

“You are a witch?”

“Yes, I suppose I am. Though a poor one.”

Thyra nodded. “I once thought myself one. I had these dogs...”

“Tell me about your dogs,” Rhianwen asked.

Thyra shook her head. “It is a sad story. From a long time ago.”

“Tell me about your family? The Lord Uhtred is your brother?”

“My family are dead. They all died in a fire. Except for Uhtred and my brother Ragnar.”

“Right, that’s…right.” Rhianwen breathed in and out. “So, where is Ragnar? Where does he live?”

Rhianwen did not know how long they stayed in the shadow world. She tried to keep Thyra talking, distracting her from the faint noises and movements they could see in the gloom. Eventually they fell into silence. 

Thyra lifted her head. “Beocca,” she called. She dropped Rhianwen’s hand, leaving the shadow world. 

“Shit,” Rhianwen hurried the words to end the spell. The woods were empty now. Only Thyra, ahead of her, rushing back to the camp. Rhianwen followed, sword at the ready. 

The camp was in a worse state than she’d feared. It looked like no one was alive, other than the small number of men who had returned with Uhtred and Æthelred, Beocca among them. 

“Lady,” Finan ran up to her. “You are unharmed?”

“I’m fine.”

Finan reached out to touch her face, but sharply withdrew. “I told you you’d have a lovely shiner in the morning, didn’t I?”

Rhianwen lightly prodded the bruise. “You were right.”

“Where is Æthelflæd?” Æthelred was shouting at Thyra. “You will answer!”

“Of course she will answer!” Beocca snapped back. 

“You, you there,” Æthelred was coming towards her. “Where is Æthelflæd?”

Finan moved subtly, standing between the two of them. 

“I don’t know,” Rhianwen answered. “We were together and then we were not.”

Æthelred turned back to Thyra. Rhianwen eyed her warily. She had given no thought to what Thyra might say to the men when they returned. 

“It’s as Rhianwen says,” Thyra kept her face turned to Beocca’s chest. “She was here, then she was not.”

“And you did nothing?” Æthelred demanded. “You have a sword, do you not?”

“Yes, because I fight off an army of Danes by myself,” Rhianwen snapped. 

Æthelred stomped away. “They will not have killed her. They will not.”

 

“At least last night’s problem has been solved for you?” Finan murmured, coming up behind her. 

Rhianwen flinched. “Yes, I suppose so. I lost all the herbs we picked last night though.”

“I’m sure you can pick more.” Fina nudged at the smouldering heap of fabric that was all that was left of her tent. “Your horse?”

“Yes.”

“He’ll have been taken.”

“Yes, I suppose so. I shall have a long walk to Winchester.”

“Unless you mind sharing mine? She’s a lazy beast, but you’re light enough not to burden her too much.” He ran a hand down the mare’s neck affectionately.   
“I would be glad of it.”

The journey back to Winchester was made in near silence. The only words spoken ones of necessity. Rhianwen rode with her hands gripping the back of Finan’s belt.

“Tis an awkward thing, sharing a beast. But I hope not too unpleasant,” he remarked. 

“It is not how I would choose to travel all the time,” Rhianwen agreed. 

After they’d been riding for some time, Finan slowed the horse so much they were almost standing still.

“Uhtred is all but banished from Winchester,” Finan murmured. “And I must leave you here and return with him to Coccham.”

Up ahead, she could see Uhtred and his followers turn off from the road. Angry words were exchanged between him and Æthelred. 

“Then you will want your horse,” Rhianwen went to dismount as he pulled the horse to a complete stop. 

“No,” Finan slipped to the ground before she could. “It’s not such a long way to Coccham, I can walk.”

He placed a hand on Rhianwen’s knee, just for a second, and then turned and broke into a jog, following Uhtred, before she could say thank you. 

 

Merlin strode the length of the chamber and back again, pushing splayed fingers angrily through his beard. 

“And you couldn’t have taken her with you?” He demanded. 

“No, father. She, she just disappeared. Thyra was the only one I could save.”

“And you revealed our secret to her? What will Thyra do?”

Rhianwen and Thyra had spoken briefly on their return to Winchester, when Thyra assured her that she considered that Rhianwen had saved her life. And she would keep the secret. 

“Thyra is not a problem.”

“Still, careless.”

Rhianwen got to her feet, knocking the chair backwards against the wall. “And if I had saved Æthelflæd then I would have revealed our secret to her. Surely that would be a bigger danger.”

“And instead she is dead,” Merlin snapped. 

Rhianwen gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles turning white. “You really think they will kill her?”

“It’s the better of the two options,” Merlin stopped his pacing and faced his daughter across the table. His face softened at the sight of her distress. “It will be a ransom, though. Probably. A high one. Enough to buy an army to sweep through Mercia and Wessex. The flame of Albion will be smothered before it was ever alight.”

“There,” Rhianwen swallowed and began again. “There’s something else. I killed. I killed two men.”

“Danes?”

“Please,” Rhianwen held her hand up. “Don’t interrupt me, or I may not be able to say it. Mercians. Two Mercians. They attacked me in my tent and tried to -. But that is not why I killed them. I used magic to defend myself. They saw. That is why I killed them.”

“With magic?”

“No,” Rhianwen shook her head. “With my knife. They saw me use magic.”

“But they were trying to attack you. You were defending yourself.”

“Well, yes but I had already stopped the attack when I killed them.”

“But they attacked you. The sentence for rape is death.”

“Alfred would not see it that way.”

“Does anyone know?”

“No, only – “

“Only?” He prompted. 

“Finan. Uhtred’s Irishman. He helped me cover it up.”

“And how did he do that?”

Rhianwen explained Finan’s plan. “But then the Danes attacked and I set fire to my tent.”

“How did you set fire to it?”

“Magic.”

“Let me see your bracelets.”

Merlin walked around the table, taking her wrists in his hands one by one. He examined the bracelets, and the burn marks left on her skin. For every time she used magic, they tightened and burned her skin. 

“You should not be able to make spells at all, apart from the shadow spell. The spell must be remade.”

“Do I need to wear them at all? If I hadn’t used magic…”

“You have no control. How many times have you nearly exposed us, eh?”

“I know you are right, but,” Rhianwen paused. “No, you are right.”

Merlin slipped the bracelets from her wrists. “You should sleep now. When you wake, I will have recast the spell.”


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight 

Rhianwen was walking through the palace corridors, swinging her now empty basket, having made all her deliveries for the day. People may think of her as a whore, but they were still eager to pay for her remedies. Or her father’s remedies, she corrected herself, for she knew it was the strength of her father’s reputation that made them seek her help. 

Rhianwen turned onto the hallway that led to her rooms and came to a sudden stop. The Irishman was there, fist poised to knock at the door. 

“You are here for your horse?” She asked, once they’d exchanged greetings. 

“I am. And to see how you are? Your eye is healing well.”

“Well, my father is the land’s greatest physician.”

“That is true.”

“Let me put this away,” she held up her basket, and I will take you to the stables.

Rhianwen led him out to the palace stables. The horse he’d loaned her was in Drustan’s old stall, furthest away from the door. 

“I’ve taken her out every day, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Can’t allow a warrior’s horse to become lazy,” he scratched the horse between her eyes. 

“You didn’t tell me her name,” Rhianwen noted. “I’ve just been calling her girl.”

“Her name’s Donn. It just means brown.” Finan laughed. “It’s not the most imaginative name.”

“Well, I’m rather fond of Donn.”

“I only have a few moments. Uhtred has come to see the king with news. But the king will be eager to see him gone-"

“Has he news of Æthelflæd?” Rhianwen’s smiled dropped. 

Finan looked out into the stables, checking they were alone. He spoke quietly. 

“She is alive. Uhtred has spies in Beamfleot. They’ve seen her.”

Rhianwen let out a relieved sigh. Her father thought death the better option but. 

“Where there’s life, there’s hope,” she breathed. 

“True enough,” Finan looked puzzled. 

“It’s something my father says. Thank you for telling me.”

“I knew you would be thinking of her.” Finan paused. “And I wanted to see you. Not only to see if you recovered. Just to see you.”

“Yes,” Rhianwen turned away, taking a moment to pat Donn’s neck once more. 

“I suppose your father will replace your old horse?”

“Maybe. But he was a gift from someone I loved greatly,” Rhianwen smiled ruefully. “And hard to replace.”

She handed the reins to Finan. 

“A man knows when he is being refused. However sweetly.”

“My old love is still too fresh to seek a new one.” Rhianwen lifted her gaze to look him in the eyes. “But I would like a friend. Everyone else believes I am a whore and –"

“I would be glad to call you friend,” Finan smiled. “What happened to your old love? Dead?”

Rhianwen shook her head. “He married another.”

“Well, any man who’d leave you is a fool. I’m saying that as a friend, nothing more.”

“He was no fool. He was a prince, and princes cannot marry where they will.”

“Well, I know one or two who did, but it did not end well.”

“So, there you have it. He made the wiser choice.”

“Still a fool to choose another over you.”

“He had no choice. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. Otherwise I’m just another fool taken in by the fine words of a prince.” Rhianwen wiped her eyes. “I wish you a safe journey back to Coccham.”

 

“Father,” Rhianwen rushed back to their chambers. “Have you heard? Lady Æthelflæd is alive.”

“Then my worst fears are confirmed,” Merlin shook his slowly. “It will be ransom and ruin.”

“How can you say that?” Rhianwen put both hands on the arms of the chair opposite her father and sank slowly into it. “Surely there is something that can be done?”

Merlin worried at a knot of hair in his beard. “I have been thinking on it. I had an idea for a spell, one to mimic the appearance of the treasure and then disappear after some time had passed. While the real treasure remained in Winchester.”

“That sounds wonderful, father,”

He waved his hand. “I cannot make the spell hold. Besides, where would I hide the money?”

“In your strongbox, of course.”

“And then what? Hand it back to the king?” Merlin shook his head. “I must think of something else.”

“Could you- “Rhianwen swallowed. “Could you not save the lady?”

“That is what I think on. How to do it without revealing my power. Anyway,” Merlin looked up at her, eyes narrowed shrewdly. “How did you come to know that Æthelflæd is alive?”

“Finan told me.” 

“And he knows because…”

“Uhtred has spies in Beamfleot.”

“Of course he does.” Merlin nodded. His fingers went back to working on the knot in his beard. Rhianwen watched him in silence, knowing that he was thinking. Merlin gave a satisfied sigh when he worked the knot free. 

“The king does not like this Uhtred. He thinks he’s plotting with the Danes. That he may have been the one who told them Æthelflæd had ridden with her husband.”

“I know all this. But if that was the case, why had he not joined them? He’s banished, more or less, there would be no gain in him feigning loyalty now.”

“He is an ealdorman. With land and power. If he goes over to the Danes he risks losing all and gaining nothing. Perhaps he bides his time.”

“I do not know Uhtred but,” Rhianwen stopped to think. She had been about to say she knew Finan, but she didn’t really. Only that he’d been kind to her, lending her his horse and helping her cover up a murder. A man could do those things and still follow his lord into treachery. 

“Child?” Merlin questioned when she did not finish her sentence. 

“Nothing. You are right. You are always right. We are just arrived and know little of what goes on here.”

“Yet our knowledge grows by the day. This man, Finan. He has a sweet spot for you. That is to our advantage.”

“Father – “  
“Befriend him. That’ s all I’m saying.”

“Can I not have one friend that isn’t part of your plotting? Befriend Æthelflæd, befriend Thyra, and on and on.”

“No, quite frankly. Our work is so important that all else must bend before.”

“You know,” Rhianwen got up and walked to the window. “Maybe I don’t share your dreams. For Albion to be united, does that mean all the lands must be given over to Saxons? Wasn’t that the enemy your Arthur died fighting? And now we must, must prostrate ourselves before them! What of our friends, our Welsh friends? Are they to be crushed?”

“Not crushed, child. But these lands are stronger together.”

“Can we not return to Anarawd? Help him unite Wales? Fight the Danes and the Saxons?”

“One enemy at a time, and the Danes are more pressing. One day this will be a land for Saxons and Britons, in peace, together.”

“Well, I do not agree this is the way.”


	9. Chapter 9

“It is an impossible amount, Lord.”

Merlin was kneeling next to Alfred before the alter in the king’s personal chapel. The king had spent more time on his knees than standing, ever since his daughter had been taken. Merlin had not thought it possible, but he was spending even more time at prayer, since the envoys had returned from the negotiation for Æthelflæd’s release. 

“And yet the amount must be paid, or all will be ruined.”

“But it will bankrupt Wessex and Mercia. And pay for the heathen army that must follow.”

“But if I do not pay it, then my daughter and my crown will be humiliated.” The king sighed. “The Lord Odda believes that Æthelflæd must sacrifice herself. Take her own life.”

Merlin did not speak, feeling that the king had more so say. 

“Odda sacrificed his son, for the sake of the realm. For my sake. I do understand why he makes the suggestion.”

“From what I have heard, the situation was very different. His son was committing treason right in front of you.”

“True.”

“But,” Merlin spoke gently, his voice barely above a whisper. “His advice may be sound.”

The king turned his cool stare towards Merlin. “You have a daughter. Almost the same age as Æthelflæd. What would you do in my position?” 

“I confess, Lord, that I do not know.” Merlin paused. “I came into your service at Anarawd’s suggestion.” There was no need to tell Alfred that he had placed the idea in Anarawd’s mind himself. “But I came willingly because I share your dream of a united land. I cannot say the lengths I would go to in order to make sure that dream comes true.”

Merlin bowed his head, giving every appearance of being deep in prayer. “I hope I never have to make that choice.” This, at least, was honesty.

 

“The physician’s daughter is your woman now, I take it?” Uhtred asked, once Finan had re-joined the others at the Two Cranes.  
“No, why’d you ask that?” Finan reached for the jug of ale in the middle of the table.

“We’ve no sooner arrived in Winchester than you are going to see her.”

Finan looked around the inn, searching for a serving girl to ask for a new jug of ale. The men gathered at the various tables were subdued and suspicious. Shooting dark glances in Uhtred’s direction, and even blacker stares at Clapa and Sihtric. 

“We’re friends, that is all.”

Clapa snorted into his cup. “Is that what Saxons name it.”

“Men and women are never only friends” Uhtred tipped his cup towards Finan, splashing the table with ale. 

“What about you and the abbess Hild? Finan shot back. 

“I do not want to hump Hild.”

Finan was not the only one around the table to give Uhtred a pointed look. 

“Not since I met Gisela, anyway,” Uhtred admitted. 

“We talk. Her father and I talk,” Finan explained. “The food is better than the slop they serve here. And the company too.”

He had spent every possible moment in Winchester in the rooms of Merlin and his daughter. The three of them sitting by the fireside, the old man’s blue eyes twinkling with mischief. The wine he served was good, warming Finan through from his toes up, making him expansive. Maybe a little too much so. 

“If the ale is kept flowing you will find our company grows better," Uhtred laughed. "But your woman cooks?"

"The woman burns water. Her father cooks." Finan lowered his voice and leaned in closer to Uhtred. “What is the plan now? Will you do as the princess asked?” 

“I have not yet decided. There is no clear way to do as she asks. But there I must find some way, or Wessex is lost.”

“And if you do succeed, what then?” Finan queried. “You will no longer be welcome here, if the king finds out. Will you do as Gisela suggested, and go north?”

“We may have no choice.” Uhtred leaned back, so far Finan feared he was about to topple off. But he was not as deep into his cups as he was trying to appear, and he righted himself. He sighed, leaving Wessex would mean leaving many he cared about. Beocca, Thyra. Alfred, he admitted to himself. “And you, you would follow me?”

“I swore to follow you anywhere, Lord.”

“Even if it meant leaving your woman?” A slow smile spread across his face. 

Finan sighed, and shook his head. “Beocca says you are too fond of love, and women. I’m starting to think he may be right.”

“Love and women. What is more important in life than those two things.”

“So, we’ll be saving the princess, then?”


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten 

After he and Uhtred left Osferth in charge of the sleeping Odda, Uhtred returned to the inn to spend some time with Gisela. Finan was not in the mood for the alehouse, besides he wished to keep a clear head for their dawn ride to Beamfleot. Without really thinking about how he got there, he found himself outside Merlin’s door. He paused but, seeing a sliver of light from beneath the door, he knocked. 

“Finan,” Rhianwen smiled when she answered. “I thought you weren’t calling tonight.”

“Will you walk with me?”

“It is late. We were about to retire.”

“Just for a wee while.”

Rhianwen glanced back inside the room. “Just a moment.”

Finan heard whispered words between Rhianwen her father, before she reappeared in the doorway wearing her cloak. They walked through the streets of Winchester, oddly quiet for such a fine night. 

“No one has coin to spend in the alehouses anymore,” Rhianwen remarked. 

“Well, Uhtred may have a solution for that,” Finan replied. He dropped his voice. “We ride at dawn for Coccham and then Beamfleot.”

“Uhtred is decided, then.”

“He is.”

Rhianwen shook her head. “I still cannot believe that Alfred’s daughter is in love with one of the brothers. It seems an unlikely turn of events.”

“We do not choose who we love.” Finan went to put a hand on his shoulder, hoping to turn her towards him, but she stepped away.

“No, we do not,” Rhianwen pulled her cloak a little tighter. She stopped to examine a rough image carved into the lintel of a house. “And her husband is such a pig that I cannot blame her for finding solace elsewhere, even if it is with a northman.”

“That is true,” Finan laughed. “But what we set out to do is not without danger.”

“You fear you will not return.”

“We’ll be walking into a fortress full of Danes.”

“I wish there was a way I could help,” Rhianwen’s thoughts turned to her father. 

“Lady, I - “

“I’m sorry, Finan, I must return to my father.” She was running up the street and out of sight before he could stop her. 

 

Merlin sat up from his dozing by the fire as Rhianwen ran into the room. She quickly told him what Finan had told her. 

“Is there nothing you can do?”

“Get me the powder from the strongbox, the one in the green jar.”

Rhianwen fetched the powder, while Merlin collected three vials. He mixed the powder with liquid from the vials into one flask. 

“There is one way, but I must go with them to do it.”

“Can I not?”

“No, child. It is too dangerous, and my power is needed.”

“Will you save Æthelflæd?”

“I’ll save her from the Danes. But she cannot be allowed to flee with this man. Alfred will tear this country apart to find her, bankrupt it even without the ransom being paid. No, this Erik must die.”

“Father, you can’t mean that.” She too thought that Æthelflæd’s dream of a new life with her lover was unlikely to be peaceful one but couldn’t believe that her father would set out to kill the man. 

“I do. This is the only way,” he pressed her hands between his. “Believe me, if I could see another way, I would follow it.”

 

Merlin made his way through the streets to the Two Cranes. He’d seen several of Uhtred’s men before but, other than Finan and the big Dane, did not think he’d recognise them. Pulling his cloak over his face, he entered the inn, seating himself in a quiet corner. He whispered words to make himself go unnoticed by the others. 

The big Dane was seated at a table with seven or eight other men. Neither Finan nor Uhtred was among them, but Merlin was certain they were all Uhtred’s men. He waited until one of the men went outside to piss and followed him. 

He whispered another spell, and then caught the warrior before he hit the ground. He then dragged him to the stables behind the inn and covered the sleeping man with straw. Then Merlin took his form. 

“Hrolf!” Clapa called across the room when he returned, wearing his new face. “I thought you had fallen in the water trough.”

“It would not be the first time,” another man muttered into his cup. 

Merlin sighed inwardly as the took Hrolf’s place at the table. Trust his luck to choose a drunken fool as a disguise. 

 

They rode hard for Coccham. Merlin remained quiet the whole way, which attracted curious glances and words from his companions. Clearly this Hrolf had a reputation as a chatterbox as well as a drunkard. From Coccham they took boats and rowed down river towards Beamfleot. 

Everything seemed to be following Uhtred’s plan, whatever that was, until they reached Erik’s ship. Despite their being more guards than expected, they continued on to the fortress itself. Even after they met with Erik and he told them that the princess was now hanging from a cage in the middle of the hall itself.  
But when Uhtred suggested that they could distract the Danes with fire, Merlin started to see how he could do what was needed. It was he who set the fire, before running swiftly to join the others when they entered the hall. In spite of the danger he was in, he could not help enjoying inhabiting this younger body. His limbs moved freely, without any stiffness, and he pulled Hrolf’s sword from its scabbard with ease. 

The men remaining in the hall were dealt with easily, and Merlin started to hope that this plan would work, however misguided it had seemed to begin with. But he still had to deal with the northman. He saw how Æthelflæd’s face brightened with true happiness when she saw Erik, and his heart nearly broke for the pain he was about to invite upon her. But it must be done, he reminded himself, for Albion. 

Then Siegfried, Erik’s brother, entered the hall, and Merlin saw his chance. It was the easiest thing, to make Erik’s foot slip, just a little. Siegfried struck, right in his heart. Merlin tried not to listen to Æthelflæd’s cries as he and Finan dragged her away. 

 

There was a pounding at the chamber door, rousing Rhianwen from her dozing by the fireside. 

“The king rides to war. He demands his physician.” The young soldier at the door was hopping from foot to foot, he barely dashed the words out before he started to hurry away along the corridor.

Rhianwen picked her father’s war-bag, always packed and ready in case of battle, from the back of the door. 

Rhianwen followed the young soldier along the corridor. The king and his guard were assembled in the courtyard, the rest of the army outside the city gates. Once mounted, Alfred beckoned her to his side. 

“It was your father that I asked for.”

"He is unwell, Lord.”

“He seemed perfectly fine a few hours ago.”

“He is an old man, Lord. The illness came upon him suddenly,” Rhianwen kept her eyes on the road ahead. She had a feeling that the king could read her mind.

“It seems the Lord Odda has set himself against me.”

“Rebellion, Lord?” Rhianwen looked at him in surprise. 

“Yes, though not in the usual way. He has raised the Devonshire fyrd and is riding to Beamfleot.”

“Why not just let him continue? Perhaps they can retake the town and save your daughter.”

“And if he does not? If he fails? I do not wish to see my daughter’s head on a pike. Or hear tales of how she has been whored the length and breadth of Daneland.”

Rhianwen turned her head, making a show of looking at the assembled men. “I do not see the Lord Uhtred with us?”

“No. He has left Winchester already. Perhaps to join Odda. Perhaps to side with the Danes.”

 

“I do not think that he has joined the Danes, Lord.”

"Word is you are…close to Finan, Uhtred’s man. Little happens in Winchester that I am unaware of. Not least in my own palace.”

Rhianwen resisted the urge to laugh, thinking of how little the king did know about what went on in her father’s rooms. 

“Does Uhtred plan to fight against me. Against Wessex.”

“Finan has told me nothing, Lord.” Rhianwen turned to look him in the eye. “I am merely a woman, after all. Why would he speak of battle plans to me.”

 

It was true night by the time they caught the Lord Odda. The king had only just begun to talk when a shout came, warning of approaching horsemen. It was Uhtred, with the princess, pursued by Northmen. Though not as many Northmen as Rhianwen would have expected. In the distance, a red glow lit the horizon. Men were shouting that Beamfleot was ablaze. 

Rhianwen was sent back, far beyond the shield wall. Too far and too dark for her to really see what was happening. But the battle was short. The Northmen quickly overwhelmed by the greater numbers of the Saxons. 

Once the enemy had been routed, the king was eager to return to Winchester with his reclaimed daughter. The wounded were hastily pulled onto horses or carts, requisitioned from nearby farms, and the journey completed as short a time as possible. 

As they rode away, Rhianwen caught site of a young man, one of Uhtred’s followers. The man smiled and winked at her, his eyes flashing yellow, just for a second. She beamed, recognising her father despite his disguise. Then she noticed Finan, standing at her father’s side, the left side of his face a mask of blood. He frowned, having seen the look that passed between her and her masked father, and she wished that she could have explained. 

Rhianwen did see Uhtred, lip split and complaining of a ringing in his ears that would not abate. He also had far fewer men, the instantly recognisable large Dane who usually accompanied him absent. 

 

“We lost half our number. More than half,” Finan ruefully explained, once they were back in Winchester. He was seated at the table in Rhianwen and her father’s rooms, Rhianwen dressing the small gash on his forehead. 

“You rescued the princess, “Rhianwen pointed out. 

“Yes.”

"And in doing so, saved Wessex and Mercia both. Uhtred will certainly find himself in the king’s favour now.”

“But for how long,” Finan fought off a yawn. He stretched lazily. “I think I’ll find a good alehouse. A good night’s work deserves a reward.”

“You should find your bed and rest. You’ve lost much blood.” Rhianwen stood and started putting her salves away.

“And the ale will help me replace that,” Finan grinned.

Rhianwen laughed. 

“Or maybe I will find a woman, to rest beside.”

Rhianwen turned away so he could not see her face, but she was careful to keep her tone light when she spoke. “Maybe the woman would be disappointed, if all you did was rest?”

Finan thought that perhaps this was an invitation. But the laugh died in his throat and his smiled dropped. 

“Is there, is there something between you and Hrolf?”

“Hrolf?” Rhianwen looked up in surprise. “I do not know anyone by that name.”

“You certainly seemed pleased to see him safe, after the battle.”

“That, oh!” Rhianwen realised. “That was- Perhaps I was pleased to see you safe, and you happened to look at the wrong time.”

He got up from the stool and walked towards Rhianwen, waiting until she looked at him before speaking. 

“You told me before, Lady, that you were not looking for a new love. But we talk, and we laugh and we flirt whenever we meet. Is there not the smallest chance there could ever be anything more between us? If you say no, then I will say no more.”

Something more.” Rhianwen tapped out a little rhythm on the surface of the table. “Such as?”

“A kiss?” Finan suggested, leaning in a little. Rhianwen’s gaze dropped from his eyes to his lips. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips. Heat rose within in her and she was sure her face was blazing red. 

“I think,” Rhianwen took a deep breath.” I think perhaps, that would not be so terrible.”

Finan bent down, pressing his lips to hers. Only for a moment, and then he withdrew. Rhianwen flushed with disappointment at how briefly it had lasted. She put her hand on his waist and ran it up his back, pulling him closer, encouraging. Finan put his head to the back of her neck, his other hand to her face, running his thumb over her bottom lip before he kissed her again. 

Rhianwen felt herself being turned, so her back was to the kitchen table. Finan encouraged her up, with the lightest of pressure, so that she was half sitting on the table, with him standing between her legs. Finan pulled the neck of her dress down, trailing kisses as far down her bare skin as he could reach. 

“Wait, wait,” Rhianwen placed her hand on his cheek, bringing him up to face her again. 

“Sorry,” he whispered. “But I’ve waited so long for this.”

A gentle cough came from the doorway. “And you may have to wait a little longer.”

 

Merlin wanted to laugh out loud at how quickly the two sprang apart, and at the guilty expression on his daughter’s face. But he had to at least make a show of being a stern father.

“I thought you didn’t want to befriend him?” He raised an eyebrow at his daughter, after the Irishman had taken his leave, a little shame-facedly. “Though I am pleased to see are moving on from Tudwal, perhaps next time you should close the door.”

“I am not moving on from Tudwal,” Rhianwen flung herself into her chair by the fireplace. “I don’t- I am not-"

“What is it, child?” Merlin took the seat opposite, leaning forward to take her hands in his. 

“Tudwal is married, near a year now. And last I heard, his wife was with child.” She snatched her hands away from her father, choosing instead to cover her face with them. “So why do I feel so guilty. Like I am betraying him.”

“For that I have no answer,” Merlin admitted. 

“But you have an answer for everything,” Rhianwen said, voice muffled by her hands. 

“Maybe I should admit the limits of my knowledge more often.” Merlin went to the cupboard, withdrawing the cask of good wine sent by Anarawd, and two cups. “This situation with Æthelflæd was solved by men other than me. Largely, anyway. Here.” He handed a cup to his daughter. 

Rhianwen sighed miserably. “There is no spell for heartbreak, is there?” She’d already asked the question a thousand times. 

“Only for forgetting.”

“And that I do not want to do.” Rhianwen slumped into her chair. 

“You like this man, Finan?”

Rhianwen took a deep drink from her cup. “I do.”

“And he’s a good man?”

“I believe so.”

“Perhaps you just, enjoy his company for a while.”

“Fathers do not usually suggest such things to their daughters,” Rhianwen poured herself another cup. 

“We are not most fathers and daughters. And I still think a friend within Uhtred’s household a useful one to make.”

“Which is the real reason you think I should befriend him.”  
 


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Rhianwen and Finan were pressed up against the wall in a corner of the stables. They’d spent the last few days snatching moments where they could. 

“I must go now,” Rhianwen started to pull away. “My father will be expecting me.”

“Just a few moments more,” Finan murmured, lips millimetres from hers. His hand lifted her skirt to her knees and he ran his hand up her thigh. 

“Finan, no – “ Rhianwen started to say. They had not lain with each other yet, more for lack of opportunity than desire. 

“I am not going to do that,” Finan nuzzled her neck. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

His hand resumed its journey, finishing between her legs. Rhianwen braced herself. Tudwal had done this too, some clumsy jabbing with his fingers before the true humping began. But this was different. Slow and gentle, then firm and fast, then back to slow again. The sensation built within her, climbing higher and higher, until she thought she could bear no more. Embarrassed, she buried her face into Finan’s neck, breathing in the scent of sweat and leather. Her body shuddered and she let out a low moan as she climaxed. 

“Hmm,” Finan breathed against her neck. Then pulled back so he could see her face. “So, you liked that after all.”

Rhianwen laughed, pulling her sweaty hair away from her neck. She reached to unbuckle his belt, but Finan stopped her. She looked at him, brow wrinkled in confusion. 

“Our first time together will not be against a stable wall.” He pressed his lips to hers once again. “Marry me,” he whispered in her ear. 

“What?” She whispered. 

“Marry me?” He repeated. “Uhtred will give me permission. And a house in Coccham. I think he rather likes the idea of having a healer in the village.”

“Coccham,” Rhianwen rested her forehead against his. “I do not wish to leave my father.”

“Coccham is less than a day’s ride away. You could visit your father whenever you wished. Unless you think he would not give permission?”

She remained silent. Thinking. Her father would likely give permission, keen to have a link to Uhtred’s household a spy.

“My father would say yes. He likes you. And he likes Uhtred even more. He thinks that Alfred is the brain and Uhtred the sword.”

“Well, he’s not wrong,” Finan agreed. “The king is having a thanksgiving mass two days from now. Uhtred wishes to return to Coccham straight after.”

“Coccham is barely a day’s ride away,” she repeated with a smile. “You could visit whenever you like.”

“I cannot return whenever I want, as I must do as my Lord demands. But you could return here whenever you wish.” He trailed kisses down her neck. “Just think, we could do this all day. All night. This and more.”

“Finan,” Rhianwen pushed him away firmly. “I must tell you something. And when I tell you, you may not wish to marry me.”

“If it is that you have lain with another, that does not matter to me.”

Rhianwen shook her head. “It is not that. It concerns my father, as well as me.”

Finan sat back on a hay bale, indicating that she should go on. 

“He is a sorcerer. Perhaps the greatest sorcerer there has ever been. His name isn’t really Myrddin. It is Merlin. King Arthur’s Merlin.”

“A legend.”

“Some legends are true. We came here because he thinks Alfred could be a new Arthur. Uniting the lands of the Britons. Albion. The dream he hoped that Arthur could make true.”

“But what has he done?” Finan shook his head, confused. “He’s a healer, there are many such.”

“Healing is just one of his gifts. When you rode for Beamfleot, he took the form of one of Uhtred’s men, to help you win at Beamfleot. This Hrolf you mentioned the other day.”

“Which is why you looked so pleased to see him.”

Rhianwen smiled. “Though I was pleased to see you safe as well.”

“And you,” Finan stepped closer. “Can you do magic?”

“I can perform some small magics, but I am not the sorcerer my father is. Here,” Rhianwen held her hand out and conjured a tiny dragon in her palm. It circled the flat of her hand and breath a miniscule flame, before disappearing. Rhianwen ignored the pain that flashed through her wrists. 

“Now that was something,” Finan took hold of her wrist, quickly dropping it when he felt the heat from her bracelet. Then he reached out with one finger, tracing the faint lines on the metal. “Why do you wear those? Don’t they hurt you?”

Rhianwen pulled her sleeves down to cover the bracelet. “Only when I use magic. They limit the magic, for I lack control.” She shrugged. “They only hurt a little.”

“Your father must be very old, then?”

“Even older than he looks,” Rhianwen held her hand to his face. “Do you believe me, that he uses his power only for the greater good of this land. He wants to help people. So do I.”

“I do,” Finan took her hand again. “I would still marry you.”

“Are you sure? If anyone else should know. If Alfred should come to know.”

Finan leaned to kiss her. “I will keep your secrets. Yours and your fathers. If you will let me.”

Rhianwen laughed, deep in her throat. “If you can do what you just did again, with your fingers, then I will marry you.”

“Now that,” Finan slid his hand under her skirt again, “I can do.”


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

After the wedding ceremony had finished, Uhtred and the others demanded the opportunity to celebrate with food and ale at the Two Cranes. Everyone seemed to be pushing a drink into Finan’s hand, and his head was spinning by the time night fell. 

At some point, he noticed that Rhianwen was no longer at his side. It was Gisela who nodded her head to the inn’s stairs, indicating where she had gone. 

“Brothers, friends, men, I must leave you now,” he stumbled towards the stairs. “My bride awaits.”

He pushed open the door of their room with more force than he meant, and it crashed against the wall. 

“I wondered how long it would take you to notice I’d gone.”

Rhianwen was sitting in bed, the furs pulled up to her chin at the front. But her back was exposed. Her pale, perfect skin glowing in the firelight. 

“Are you - “He crossed the room towards her. 

Rhianwen merely raised an eyebrow and smiled. When he drew near, she placed a firm hand on his chest, aware of the heat emanating from his crotch, just a few inches below. 

“Oh no. You must be naked to get in this bed,” she shrugged, laughing. “I did not make the rules.” 

“As my lady commands.” Finan’s head was suddenly clear. He shed his clothes quickly, not caring where they fell, aware Rhianwen was watching his every move. 

He approached the bed once again. Rhianwen drew herself slowly to her knees, allowing the furs to fall away. 

“I had hoped to undress you myself,” Finan knelt in front of her. 

“Well, I am impatient.”

Finan drew her towards him, and Rhianwen sighed at the sweet strangeness of feeling someone’s bare chest against her own. She allowed him to ease her down upon the furs. 

 

When they were finished, Rhianwen lay in bed on her front. Finan drew his hand lazily along her back, tracing the line of her spine. 

“There’s no way that was your first time,” he said, voice low. 

“If I say that it was you will tease me, and if I say that it wasn’t then I am diminished,” Rhianwen replied airily. “So, you will not blame me if I don’t say either way.”

“You will never be diminished. Not to me,” he whispered, leaning to press his lips to her shoulder. 

“I confess though,” she giggled. “I had no idea it could be like that.”

“Like what?” Finan’s brow furrowed, concerned that she had been disappointed. 

“Like…” Rhianwen gazed at the headboard, trying to think of the right words. “Like every part of me was melting. And on fire. And yet I’ve never felt more, like, like myself. Does that make sense?”

“It does.” Finan’s hand came to a rest at the base of her spine. “What it not like that before?”

“No. I mean, I wanted to, because,” she could not say that she loved Tudwal. It felt wrong, in her marriage bed. “But it was always something to be endured.”

“The other man did not love you. He could not have, and used you so,” Finan said, eyes bright.

Rhianwen rolled over onto her side, determining not to dwell on the past. “Let us not invite ghosts into our bed.” She traced a hand over the long scar in the right side of Finan’s forehead. “You never told me how you got that?”

Finan pressed her hand to his lips. “To speak of it is to speak of ghosts.”

 

Merlin stood at the king’s side, watching as Æthelflæd and Æthelred departed the city. Shortly after, Finan and his household assembled in front of the palace, ready to take their leave. Rhianwen hugged her father for a long time, and her eyes were damp when she mounted her horse. 

“We are both saying goodbye to our children today,” Alfred remarked, as they watched the party ride through the gate. 

“But not forever, Lord,” Merlin reminded him. “I confess, I thought my daughter would never leave my side.”

“You hoped that she would not,” the king turned to him. 

“Perhaps. But she has wedded a good man. And the man he serves, he is also a good man.”

“Uhtred does much good but,” the king grimaced. “I fear he will be tempted towards other paths. Other ways. Ungodly ones.”

“I would suggest, Lord,” Merlin dropped his voice. “That ungodly is not always bad, and godly is not always good.”

“Blasphemy, Myrddin?”

Merlin raised his hand in a pacifying gesture. “I merely suggest that a man may kneel at the alter and pray, yet still have evil in his heart.”

“And that good may be in the hearts of men who do not pray?” The king raised his eyebrows. “No. The path to good is through God. It is the only way.”

Merlin sighed. “Maybe you’re right.”

But he knew the king was wrong. Perhaps, in time, the king would come to open his mind and his heart to other ways. Or he feared for Albion.


End file.
